A cycle of poems based on the Symphonie Fantastique (Op. 14) of Hector Berlioz.
[NB: These are still a work in progress. Your comments are appreciated.]
Introduction
Waltz
Projection
Pastorale
Overdose
Honor
Grey Hell
Dance of the Demons' Sabbath
Battle
The streets of the city smell of soot and steam, a dark
Foreboding that hovers over men and women of high
Rank and low. It feeds on their need for more
Power, more riches, more happiness. The horses struggle
To drag their carriages through the crowded streets.
I step over a pile of dung that swarms with flies, and examine
My reflection in the haberdasher's window. My overcoat
Lies slightly open, revealing a sedate grey pinstripe suit. A mustache, neatly
Trimmed, frames my upper lip. I smile, remembering
The young lady with whom I dined last night, who commented that
She'd always thought she might marry a mustachioed gentleman. Behind
My reflection, a tall, slender woman hails a hansom cab. Her hair,
Golden even in the overcast sky, forms a halo around
Green eyes and flushed cheeks. A pink dress with white lace trim peeks out from
Under her coat. I turn around and watch her board the carriage, disappearing
Before I can gather my wits to chase the dwindling
Image of Aphrodite who is now etched in my memory.
Waltzes and Polkas erupt from the orchestra.
Rising from tables, the debutants whirl,
Each with her partner. Her evening gown, shimmering,
Shouting, proclaiming her "Woman, neé girl".
Mozart and Strauss waft across the large dinner hall.
Opulent chandeliers scatter their light,
Casting on couples the glow of the candles, that
Twinkle and glitter long into the night.
As the Gavotte beings, stately and dignified,
Ladies and gentlemen curtsey and bow.
Elegant faces recall the young woman who
Strode through my life today. --- There she is now!
Just for a moment I catch a brief glimpse as she
Glances at me and glides gracefully by.
Laughing! She's laughing! The white of her teeth is like
Sunshine that breaks through the overcast sky.
Why not stand up, stride over, speak out,
Declaring my adoration? Why not
Offer my hand for a dance? I could walk to her now and talk
About the weather, compliment her dancing, learn
The name mated with her eyes.
I would, but her beauty stills my voice.
I would sputter and stammer instead of smiling. While she
Dances with one beau after another, I sigh and watch, pondering
My nextmove, as though we were matched
At chess or whist. Perhaps her laugh would change
From chimes to chains, binding me
To the rack and punishing me for my audacity, blinding me so
I dare not stare again. I can see her eyes looking down on me,
Rejecting my love, rejecting me. Across the hall, she laughs.
I can tell --- she is laughing at me.
Alone, I sit beneath a dogwood tree
And feel the ridges of its bark that press
Into my back. Above, a canopy
Of blossoms bloom, white as a bridal dress.
The heart-shaped petals drift and fall on me,
The snowy flakes that tickle and caress.
The sunny field relaxes peacefully,
And I forget the cause of my distress.
Afar, a shepherd tends his bleating flock
Of angel-sheep, a mass of woolen white.
He plays his pan pipes, reeds that seem to mock
The robins twittering in the dimming light.
Their tones fall like her laughter on my ear.
I love her still. There is no refuge here.
A single candle flickers,
Casting unnatural shadows against the
Walls of the bedchamber in which I, in my nightshirt,
Prepare to go to sleep.
From the far-off field of blood-
Red poppies come the plentiful seeds of death.
They slowly excrete the foul-smelling brown opium
That will relieve this pain.
When morning's yellow pours through
My window, splattering against my death-bed,
Illuminating my face with its sickly paleness,
She will learn of my love.
She will laugh her cruel laugh, but
I will no longer hear it. The thick, sweet smoke
Rises and smothers me in murkey peace. Finally,
I am able to rest.
I did not die. I do not
Remember it, but I shed her
Reptillian blood, I spilled it like water splashing from the washbasin,
I drank it like wine in the Devil's church. Today we celebrate.
Brass trumpets gleam brightly in the holiday sun, heralding
My approach. People crowd around to glimpse
Me, the hero of the parade. They toss
Sweet fruits to greet me; I bathe in the juices of their offerings.
Vegetable carts are emptied by the cheering crowd.
Our grand procession reaches the center of town, the stage
Dressed for the proclamation of my glorious victory. I climb the weary wooden
Steps, smile to the crowd. Before me is a hardwood
Block, knotted and pitted and stained with black blood. The band
Blares a fanfare, and beside me a gauntlet grips
The handle of an axe, its blade sharpened to split
Hairs or heads. The mayor reads my
Commendation for vanquishing the villian. The music and parade
Stop, and in the hushed silence, finally,
I am able to rest
My head on the welcoming chopping block. I wave and smile once more to the crowd,
Dressed in their Sunday best. They eagerly lean forward, waiting.
Wait! She is there! Laughi---
A desloate grey plain meets my slit eyelids. The hollow howl
Of a lonely wolf pierces my throbbing ears.
A silver eagle soars overhead, drawn towards a
Large grey bonfire on the horizon. I gather
My tattered belongings and follow the eagle's path. The ground, hard
As a skull, smoky grey as a brain, and crazed and riddled with fissures, collects
Pools of stagnant tin-grey water that emit a stench of decaying
Flesh. Ahead of me, a squirrel scampers, chittering to himself.
A pebble slides out from beneath his paw. Losing his footing,
He squeals and skitters into one of the pools. I cannot tear my eyes
Away as his fur dissolves and his bones fuse with the ground, one with this Hell.
At the edge of a gorge, I peer down into shadow.
Below, in the valley, six couples of demons
With death-mask grins dance a deranged polonaise.
Prancing perversely, with bows and with curtsies,
Impeccable incubi, garbed in grey top hats and tails, escort
partners in brightest-grey gowns.
They slither and twist; in their trysts, mates realize as the mist
materializes, forming the
woman
Whose heaven-painted face hellfire has long since seared
Into my soul. She beckons, laughing. I cannot hold
Back, cannot help but be drawn into the center of their circle. They begin another dance, linking
Hands and tails, incanting and swaying, circling. The horizon crumbles like stale bread;
The overcast sky descends, flashes of lightning illuminate the shrinking circle of calcified earth.
The demons' singing grows louder, their dance faster. A scream erupts
From my throat, as constricted as the dome
Of the sky, drawing
closer.
attacca
Naked, I start to sink into the ground, to a deeper
Level of Hell. Dies Irae! Day of
Dread, day of wrath, that consumes
The world in ashes! Above me, the world turns
To black. Occasional flashes reveal the thirteen
Demons, now naked as well, dancing on my tombstone. A flash
Cuts the darkness and dwindles but does not evaporate --- it sprouts
Wings, flapping feverishly against the night. My descent halts
As a dove's form coalesces from the light. The demons shriek shrilly, angrily, and my
Seductress, her face torn by her scowl, leaps upward from my grave, suddenly transforming
Into an eagle. Talons streak across the sky, the dove dodging
Their lethal points. The eagle dives for her pret, cutting
A swath through its wing. Drops of vibrant red
Drip to the ground. One splatters on a demon's face, which contorts in
Agony as the incubus disolves and dies
The wounded dove spirals slowly downward, beating her good
Wing furiously. The eagle swoops above, poised for another attack. She squawks
And lunges from the dove's neck. The dove clasps her good wing to her side and
Plummets. The eagle follows her eagerly, the pair spiraling downward
Like raindrops in a storm. The dove grabs my hair in her beak
And pulls me upward as her wing strains against the load. The eagle, unable
To change direction, collides with the ground. Her neck
Broken, she reverts to human form. Her slender figure sprawls, twisted, in a mock
Graveyard, as eleven griffin pallbearers look on in silence. The dove draws
Me higher, away from the carnage of Hell. Quantus tremor --- What trembling
Shall there be, when the Judge weighs everything strictly. We break
Through the walls of night, into the morning of this world. My opium pipe lies toppled
On my floor. I did not die. I do not
Know how much time has passed, or if she ever lived. What
World spreads outside my window? My legs tremble as I open
The door and tentatively step out
Of my cocoon. The warm sun
Smiles on my face, and I stride
Out into the new world.